


Fate/ill fit

by Ellaver



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Goblin Slayer (Manga), Hellsing, Nasuverse - Fandom, 幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Barely Any Canon Characters Show, Crossover, Crossover Character Servants, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Nasuverse Setting, Original Character(s), World War II, basically none
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26164051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellaver/pseuds/Ellaver
Summary: During the height of World War II, the Third Reich initiated a Holy Grail War, with the intent on cheating the system by having only their finest Magus become Masters, increasing their war effort and eventually killing all but one of them, gaining the Holy Grail and its omnipotent wish with ease, however, an information leak by a double agent allowed the Mage's Association and the Church to send their available Magi to act as Masters to be chosen by the Grail and disrupt the Nazis plan by summoning Servants from the seven classes.It is a Holy Grail War between the Third Reich Masters, who have made plans and chosen their Servants carefully, and the Outsider Masters, who hastily summoned their own Servants with little preparation time and time to choose their Servant, in order to quickly disrupt the Reich's plans.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. i am not here

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a bad idea to take on a second project while I already got one goin', but I really wanted to get it out at least. Updates might be very very inconsistent, but hopefully not unsalvageable. 
> 
> Got the idea and started brainstorming after rereading Fate/strange fake and reading Fate/Redline. 
> 
> Also just to clear it up, it's a general Nasuverse/Fate A.U. set in World War II so there'll probs be almost no Canon characters, maybe stand-ins and references, and most are original, Servants included. Just assume everything works the same as in canon, just in WWII, to make it easier.

The only state this world was familiar with was war.

For over five years, the countries of this world have erupted into a battle against one another, first started by the acts of a single country-

Germany.

At this current period of time, humanity has become overly familiar with the fires and the news of rapid deaths around the world, especially those whose families have been taken to the frontlines.

But the Third Reich had further plans. Something to not only increase their war efforts, but additionally allow for their glorious leader and his plans to continue beyond his years, beyond this country, to the very edges of the world.

A horrible scheme, utilizing the Holy Grail War.

Typically, the Holy Grail War occurs every sixty years, and currently it would require another ten before it could truly begin proper. However, impatience and the plans of the Nazis, seeing the oncoming height of the war approach them, sought to begin it now.

An act of summoning seven Servants, each by a Master, and battling it out until the final victor was given the Grail, which would grant both Master and Servant their one true wish.

However, the Third Reich did not intend on playing that game as per the rules.

Utilizing their finest Magus within their ranks, they would be chosen by the Grail as the seven Masters, and summon seven Servants to bolster their war efforts and change the oncoming battles to their favor.

And when it all ends, and their victory is all but assured, six Masters would commit suicide, and their sacrifices would allow the chosen Seventh to obtain the Grail, not for himself or for his Servant, but for the sake of their country and the Reich.

It was a nefarious loophole, technically disobeying no rules of the Grail War and allowing them easy access towards the Holy Grail.

The information leaked, thanks to the efforts of a spy within the Reich's ranks. The man did not care for who obtained the information, he merely wanted someone, anyone, to put a stop to this evil plan.

And his words reached the ears of the Magus and Priests in one area, whose connections lead the information to travel abroad to the Mage's Association, to the Holy Church, and through the subsequent information leaks from these organizations, more found out about the Third Reich's plan, the date and location.

And thus began the race for the Holy Grail War, within the Netherlands.

Emayla Ywen has been branded a "soldier", when only a week ago, she was merely a "promising, prodigy student".

She came from the Ywen Family, a minor, and unimpressive lineage of Magus, who specializes in "Reinforce and Weaken" Magecraft, allowing them to make even cloth become strong as steel without losing their shape, and on the other opposite end, make a steel armor weak as glass.

The family never achieved much in terms of fame or repute, but that's what made Emayla an exceptional student.

She was diligent, and showcased great talent during her time in the Clock Tower, managing to improve her Magecraft and even acquire extra spells, but much to her misfortune, it caught the eye of the higher ups, and when the information leak made its way to them, she was the one chosen to go to the Netherlands and act as their representative Magus to assist in dismantling the Third Reich's plans.

On her way while on the final train, during her long and arduous trip, she hasn't felt at ease for a moment.

"Just my luck…" Emayla sighed, furiously rubbing her amber eyes behind her bespectacled glasses "Get to make your family proud and you get sent to Nazi-infested Netherlands." She could only curse her misfortune.

The only reason, besides her shining star status as a prodigy, was the fact all other fitting candidates to act as Masters have been absent or occupied in more urgent matters. After all, the war was still affecting other parts of the world, and they couldn't risk leaving themselves with little numbers.

She wouldn't be alone, of course. Emayla was expected to receive support when she arrived in the Netherlands, assisting her in summoning her Servant, and anything else she required. A place to rest, monetary support, and a fake family that invited her over, in order to not gain the suspicion of soldiers.

It was incredibly dangerous, it was life-threatening, she had no idea why they would choose her, amongst much more capable Magus, with greater aptitude towards this sort of mission? She could think of several seniors off the top of her head, then why? Why Emayla?

…

Come to think of it, the answer would probably be too frightening.

The train stopped, and Emayla left the train, making sure her lilac hair remained tied up and hidden by her hat, in order to not draw attention. She even purposefully bought new clothes that were incredibly plain and unisex. She wasn't fashionably conscious, but the idea of traveling to a new country close to war made her do irrational things.

Leaving the train station, Emayla walked through the streets, seeing the people who behaved and acted their days as if nothing wrong was going outside their country. It made sense, Amsterdam hadn't been suffering much in the way of battles after getting under Nazi rule.

Emayla sat at a bench, near a bakery, opening her bag and looking at the letter she received from her "family", looking to see if she was going the right way to the address on it. Despite knowing she wasn't being watched, Emayla felt paranoid, as if eyes were lying all over on her, that any minor act that could be perceived as suspicious would get her thrown into some cell, helpless to whatever sadism the soldiers had in mind.

She forced her body to remain composed, and rubbed the sweat off her forehead with her handkerchief, calmly reading the letter.

"Who would I even summon…?" Emayla wasn't given any idea on what catalysts the Magus had available for her. Communication was an issue, apparently, and she had to be there herself to meet the Magi and choose the servant.

According to the leaked information, there was still time until the Reich's summoning and the start of the Holy Grail War, so there was time. There was still time.

So why?

Why did the Command Spell appear on the back of her hand just now?

A horrible, jagged mark, both a spiral and a thunderbolt, like the fangs of a maelstrom, red as blood on the back of her right hand. She stared in awe, and she knew that Emayla Ywen has become chosen by the Grail to be a Master and participant of the Holy Grail War, and now, any last minute decisions to run away have been obliterated.

"Shit…!" Emayla hid her hand quickly, grabbing a glove from within her bag and wearing it on both hands, quickly getting up from her bench and walking away. "The 41st, the 41st...Ah!" She found the house and address, rushing to it in a fast but steady walk, knocking on the door in a secret code.

One knock.

Stop.

Two knocks.

Stop.

"Mama, is the pie ready?" And with that, the door opened, and Emayla was allowed inside.

"Miss Ywen, yes?" An elderly Magus, dressed as a normal citizen of the city, greeted the young lady.

"Yes, thank you for having me." She sighed in relief, feeling safe within the walls of this two-story home. It looked plain and was rather drab and dusty, but it wasn't as if her old living quarters in the Clock Tower were a villa.

"Don't be afraid of speaking, everyone in this building is a Magus and an ally," he said. "My name is Ortez, Miss Ywen. I will be your guardian."

"Ortez-sama, thank you…"

"I see your studies under Kazuma stuck," Ortez said.

"Ah, apologies! I should stick to the language of the country shouldn't I…?" Emayla embarrassingly said, blushing lightly. "Kazuma-sen-...I mean, Mr. Kazuma is my personal instructor."

"To study under a Matou. That family has been disgraced once already, so it is good to see Kazuma could escape their curse." Ortez simply smiled, a gentle smile an elder would give his grandchild. "Let us not waste anymore time, however. Dana." Ortez called to another Magus, as other Magi gathered, all dressed as normal citizens as well.

"Ah, before that." Emayla took off her gloves, revealing her command spells. "It seems...initial preparations have already been done."

"Incredible, you've been chosen!" One of the Magi commented in amazement.

But Ortez was shivering, gone pale as he inspected the Command Spells, a sign of a Master chosen by the Grail upon Emayla's flesh.

"This is too soon...They have begun." Ortez quickly turned to his peers. "Quick, lock the doors! Close the windows! We don't have time!"

"Wh-...What's going on, Ortez?" Emayla inquired.

"The Third Reich, those Nazi bastards were intent on summoning simultaneously! If the Spells have already appeared on you it means they have begun and have already noticed something is off," Ortez explained, grabbing Emayla by her wrist and pulling her with him "We must summon your Servant now, lest we lose this chance and are found out."

"I-...I understand, but still!" Emayla didn't object to being dragged to the basement of the building, through a secret passage under a table, hearing the door lock behind them. "We should make a careful decision on who to summon and what Class!"

"We don't know what classes they have summoned, so we must pray our catalysts aren't null and void now...We don't have many, unfortunately. The Nazis have gathered and confiscated all potential property that can be used as catalysts." Ortez gritted his teeth in frustration, as the two arrived at the basement.

It was dark, and Ortez pulled a chain to light up the single lightbulb, revealing to Emayla the small basement, and before them, a table of catalysts, as well as ritualistic items to allow Emayla to perform the summoning ritual.

"Go, Emayla. Look over the catalysts. I will tell you about them," Ortez explained. "But we cannot waste too mu-..."

Suddenly, the building's front door was forced open by a boot, as marching footsteps began to echo and tremor above the two. Ortez quickly turned off the light, as both crouched, keeping themselves quiet.

Emayla could vaguely hear the sound of German speech. She studied German diligently, alongside Polish, and other languages for the sake of her travels and future endeavors, but it wasn't perfect compared to her birth language of English and second language of Japanese, so she could only get a vague idea of what was being said between the Magi and the soldiers.

Arguing between the soldiers and the other Magi was ongoing above them, most likely to try and get the soldiers away. Somehow, they had already found out about her and located her, in such a short amount of time. Their response time was nothing to scoff at, that's for sure.

And then the first bullet, from a handgun, and from the loud thud followed by silence, she could only assume it was a bullet directly to the head, hence the lack of screams of agony. A quick death, but still merciless and delivered with such efficiency.

Arguing and screaming emerged, but then another bullet, and then another, but this time, the screaming of pain was loud and clear.

Emayla covered her mouth, frightened and already feeling as though her visit to the Netherlands was about to end before it could begin, her breathing becoming erratic, and tears swelling up.

"We must...be quiet…" Ortez whispered "It is painful… but Emayla… you must-..." Another bullet, from above and through the floor, clean through the old man's cranium, not even giving him a chance to make peace with himself before it ended his life.

The blood splattered on her face, followed by the thud of the old man's body hitting the stone floor.

Emayla did her best, to hold back the need to yell and cry, but her body shivered and shook out of her control.

She recognized the following words spoken by a soldier, with a gravel-like strong voice.

"She's down there."

She quickly panicked, the blood from Ortez drenching the floor. Emayla had little time, she could hear the soldiers already trying to find the secret entrance to the basement, giving her some valuable seconds to act.

She had no time to see the catalysts and even if she did, what would she know about them and what Hero is related to them?

A short sword covered in muck-

A cloth drenched red-

A jawbone of an unspecified animal-

An ancient old bowl-

None of these told her anything about who it could summon, but before she could even choose, she had to prepare the circle.

"Forgive me, Ortez-sama…!" Emayla stomached the feeling of her fingers digging through the pool of blood coming from Ortez's corpse, using it to draw down a hasty magic circle for the summoning ritual. Imperfect and crude, but functional, she hoped.

A loud thud against the basement's door, only caused her heart to beat faster, feeling like it was trying to escape, and her body felt crushed and stabbed by a thousand needles at her impending doom.

No, who's to say she would even be given the mercy of death?

During these times of war… What else… what else would soldiers do with a young woman like her?

There was no time.

The circle was done. It was smaller than recommended and crude, but it was the best she could do. From her bag Emayla pulled the letter given to her, giving it just the smallest bit of mana via Reinforcement, causing a hidden magic circle to appear on the back of it, placing it at the center of the summoning circle.

Another thud, the lock was undone, and soldiers began to pour down through the stairs.

Without time to think, she grabbed a random catalyst, and began her incantation.

"L-... Let steel be the essence…!" She choked on her words, but continued regardless, her Magic Circuits beginning to glow a bright blue. "Let stone...and the Archduke of contracts be the foundation!" Emayla read the chant countless times, yet at this vital moment, the words were a blur in her mind. "Let blue be the color I pay tribute to…!" She already made her first error, calling the wrong color, but there was no time to redo it. The magic circle began to glow regardless, energy in the form of lightning shooting out. "Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall…!"

The soldiers' marching boots got closer.

"Let the four cardinal gates close!" The first soldier arrived in the basement but nearly lost his balance and tripped from Ortez's corpse, buying her valuable seconds.

"She's summoning!" Emayla could understand that was the soldier's words spoken in German.

"Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unt-...!" The soldier rose up, grabbing Emayla's arm and pulling her back, interrupting her chant.

"Unto the Kingdom rotate!" More soldiers marched in, pulling at her.

"So please…!" The rest was not part of the summoning ritual's chant. It was simply a frightened woman, hoping for a savior, someone, anyone, to come to her aid.

A Hero.

"Save me from this pillage!"

It wasn't flashy.

It wasn't glorious.

Nor was it an occasion with grand lights that signified his arrival.

But nevertheless, the Hero arrived, quietly and without much applause.

The Magic Circle, which had glowed with energy and seemed ready to burst, simply went silent, and the basement was consumed by the natural darkness.

The soldiers holding Emayla, their harsh grips tearing the cloth of her clothes, simply stood silent, gaping at the dark corner of the basement. The light of the door behind them was the only source of light.

They couldn't see anything in the dark basement, but for some reason, they felt that somehow, something was very wrong.

Within this darkness in this small basement, where the corpse of an old man was amidst its stages of after-death, there shouldn't have been anyone else.

But a choking presence, a monstrosity felt close, as if its fingers intertwining around their necks.

"What's going on?" One of the soldiers still outside called to his allies, noticing the sudden silence. "Remember, we need the Master alive to steal their Command Spell!"

"Ah." One of the soldiers got out of his trance, seeing the crying Emayla, and no one else but him and his allies in the basement. "It's nothing! We got the wo-...!"

A single word uttered from inside the abyssal basement shook the soldiers, but to Emayla, was a sign of relief.

"Goblins?"

The soldiers quickly dropped Emayla, and their survival instinct kicked in, a primal fear screaming from the corners of their minds that what was standing in front of them, as if ingrained into their DNA that this is the only correct response.

Their rifles fired multiple times, the bullets bouncing off loudly against a metal surface, dropping onto the floor. Again and again, they fired, but the bullets ran out, and the thing in the darkness was still there.

A red glow, a trail like the flickering of a flame, lunged forth, and a throwing knife stabbed into the first soldier's neck from within the darkness, catching the other soldier's attention and distracting him long enough for the glowing red flame to strike his cranium with a small shield, caving in his skull.

The soldiers at the stairs aimed their guns, but something within them couldn't make them pull the trigger.

Something-

Something deep within them-

It defied the language and cultural barrier that existed between the German soldiers and this "Hero".

A universal understanding amongst the creatures whose most base instinct is survival.

Fear.

The figure from the darkness made itself come into view, the light from the outside shining on it, with Emayla shielded behind the warrior.

A grimy medieval armor, looking as if uncleaned and untended to, with a vile stench-

A face obscured behind a caged helmet, and a red tuft at the back of it-

Fur lining around the neck-

Cloth, gauntlets, chest piece, chainmail underneath the armor, a small shield, a short sword, a buckle with all sorts of tools and manner of small items-

Emayla looked up to see her savior, and her eyes met with a void that obscured his face inside that helmet.

He looked back at her, and through the memory link that has now become established between them, Emayla saw the warrior's thoughts, flashes of child-sized creatures seizing a woman, while the eyes watching were hidden behind a secret compartment.

Horrible creatures, awful noises.

It didn't take much for her to understand what he was feeling, or what he had witnessed that day.

"I ask of you," the warrior beckoned, "Are you my Mas-...?" But he was swiftly interrupted by a bullet striking his helm, bouncing off and harmlessly falling on the floor, bouncing once or twice on the wooden surface.

The soldiers couldn't even dent his armor.

"Shit, she summoned her Servant!" The soldiers began to yell amongst each other in their native tongue.

"Get the woman! We can still take her Command Spells!" And the warrior, blessed with the power of the Root and summoned forth, was able to understand them clearly.

"Goblins can use human speech in this world?" In his eyes, this world was different, but the knowledge he was granted by the Root in order to easily accustom him to the modern Age of Man prevented any confusion.

He knew there was a war.

He knew the basics and the history of the cause and effect.

He expected the so-called enemy soldiers to be standing in front of him right now.

And yet, that was not what he saw.

"Goblins have no use for language." All he saw were creatures of green crawling about, targeting women and helpless villages and people, slaughtering and kidnapping whoever they saw fit, all for their sadistic enjoyment.

"Can we even beat a Servant…?"

"We have to try! Otherwise Special Assault Leader Wagner will do worse!"

"This is a Hero! He has an obligation to show mercy!"

"Mercy?" The warrior understood that word and its origins, but he could not see these creatures having a modicum of comprehension of it. It was too complex a concept for Goblins. The fact it escaped their lips was a mockery towards the very idea.

Whilst the soldiers were at a panic and contemplating their next move, the warrior had been eyeing their equipment and weaponry, assessing their threat levels and conclusively coming up with a surefire strategy for victory.

From his pouch on his buckle, he pulled out a small object, and simply threw it towards the soldiers

Upon impact, it revealed its purpose as a smoke bomb, creating a cloud of dark mist to obscure him and his Master, and with the guidance of his instinct and the sounds of the panicking soldiers, the warrior easily closed the distance between them.

The first soldiers were dispatched with merciless ease and quickness not unlike an Assassin, using his short sword to slit their throats, his other hand making its way towards the rifle freed from the soldier's grip.

His fingers wrapped around the rifle, grabbing firmly onto it. Upon establishing a grip onto the weapon, information made its way to his mind, and in that instance from when his right foot left the earth, and returned, he had already understood all there is to know about this rifle.

Karabiner 98 Kurz, also known as Carbine 98 Short in English.

A bolt action rifle, and within it were around four bullets.

The warrior emerged from the smoke, climbing higher up the stairs and witnessed the soldiers who were coughing from inhaling the smoke, giving him the opportune moment to aim the rifle. With a pull of the trigger, he blew the head off the first soldier that came into his sights.

He pulled the bolt of the rifle, a bullet shell shooting out of the chamber, as the next was now loaded and ready to fire.

It was all natural to him, despite never utilizing a firearm before. It was the first time he had even seen such technology. The world he came from was much more primitive in comparison.

Discard and Draw: Imagination is a Deadly Weapon.

Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm, whose range of target was enough to take on an entire nest of Goblins, should he become desperate enough to go into such measures.

Around 30 or 40, the average size of a typical Goblin nest, but could stretch higher, with his chances of success becoming lower and lower.

Rank C.

It allowed him the power to instantly learn any weapon he obtained a grasp on, an ability not dissimilar to a certain knight of black, but while he could turn anything he mentally accepted as a weapon into a Noble Phantasm, the warrior could only gain the skills and knowledge of a pre-existing weapon, without the ability to enhance their durability to that of a Noble Phantasm, only the power they hold to allow them to harm other Heroic Spirits such as him.

"Fire!" The soldiers regained their senses and sight, aiming at the warrior. Yet his reaction speed was superior, and within a span of two seconds, he had fired all remaining three bullets, executing three soldiers with impunity, utterly destroying the morale of the soldiers present.

"Goblins have gotten their hands on useful weaponry," the warrior breathed out as he leaped forth, smashing the rifle across the head of the nearest soldier, the skull cracking and the broken bones piercing his brain, before grabbing his rifle. It was the same type, a Karabiner 98, but it only had one bullet in it. The fool had forgotten to count and reload.

No matter.

A bullet for the second nearest soldier, right through the heart, and with the warrior's throwing knives, he dispatched three other soldiers, each blade hitting the jugular, piercing through the flesh.

Fear and a sink in morale struck the soldiers outside the building, freezing in their spots.

"Stop just standing there!" A soldier, one of a higher rank, yelled out. "Even if he's a Servant, are you just going to stand there and gawk?!" It was brief, but that speech roused up the remaining soldiers en masse, raising their rifles and taking aim from the safety of the outside.

A storm of bullets pierced the air, the sound of bullet shells hitting the ground like a ringing of funeral bells, or like nickels hitting against a metal plate, contrasted against the absolutely howling sound of glass and wood shattering and being reduced to splinters at the mercy of the soldiers' weaponry.

And then, silence, smoke coming from the barrels nearly obscured their sights, but the soldiers stood firm, awaiting to see, hoping that it was not in vain.

Emayla, still in the basement, could only hear what happened next. Following that brief silence, the footsteps of metal boots began to thud on the floor above her.

"So this...is a Servant…!" The high ranked soldier gritted his teeth in frustration. "Don't give up...men…!" His words did not reach the ears of his subordinates anymore, because they had become overwhelmed by the miasma emanating from the warrior as he walked out unscathed through the door.

"I see." The warrior said. "This is the body of a Heroic Spirit." His Charisma was inverted completely. Instead of the power to lead and inspire through words, the power of a leader's lips that could sway the masses, the warrior had the impact of fear, imprinting it onto "prey" that have come to realize they were faced with an apex predator incapable of being hunted once he had set his sights on them.

It lasted approximately three minutes and forty-two seconds, the soldiers began with desperate cries and yelling, and was sooner or later overshadowed by the stomping feet of multiple escape attempts, all of which were swiftly executed and captured by the warrior. Gunshots did nothing, simply being followed by the loud clangs bullets hitting solid armor.

A crushing defeat, a single Servant, dismantling a squadron of Nazi soldiers with ease, a test run to get a feel of this new spiritual body.

He was unimpressive, a simple human who conditioned his body and mind to take a handle on the monstrosities plaguing helpless villages. No magic, or a legendary weapon to his name, simply determination and training.

Emayla exited the basement at last, her eyes adjusting to the outside light, and her nose to the fresh air after being frozen in fear alongside Ortez's corpse.

The sight before her was many dead bodies, soldiers bludgeoned, stabbed and shot without mercy. They were scattered about, those that tried to escape, those that were far, those near, distance did not matter for this warrior, he executed them with efficient brutality.

"I ask you again." The warrior turned, his armor with splashes of red across a good chunk of it. "Are you my Master?" He addressed Emayla.

She tried to remain composed, but the sights that have taken place in front of her simply flashed in her eyes against her will. Reliving that fear and the panic she felt, when she was convinced it was the end for her.

Emayla could only mumble her answer, overwhelmed by tears and emotions, falling on her knees and wrapping her arms around herself in a fearful shell.

"I see." The warrior walked towards his Master. An exchange of verbal words was pointless amongst Master and Servant with an open memory link such as theirs. No barriers were established yet, and he had peered into her thoughts.

"I apologize." The warrior kneeled down, placing his arm on Emayla's shoulder "I am the Berserker-class Servant. You already know my identity by our link, but I will request to set up boundaries so that I do not intrude on your privacy again, and you upon mine." His tone was unchanged, still serious and almost professional, yet evidently, he was genuine in his sympathy.

The warrior summoned had a rather sublime legend. He was more of a folk hero if anything.

He was no one special, not some hero who stopped a great evil God, nor a knight who slew a cataclysmic Dragon.

He was never chosen for greatness, the Gods never even blinked in his direction

Not until he defied the very conceptual idea of leaving his fate in the hands of a dice roll. He forged the results by his own hands.

He was a mere villager, whose home was burnt down and occupied by creatures known as Goblins, his sister sacrificing herself to save him from a cruel fate, herself subjected to a horrible end that made its imprint upon his psyche.

It began with a simple desire for survival.

It morphed into a need for closure.

It warped into revenge.

Eventually, it became the only thing he knew.

Yet he was not ignoble. He still possessed virtues, to save people and other villages from a fate such as his own, to be taken and turned into Goblin strongholds, to find survivors within the caves and give them a second chance.

But it all returned to the core idea that shaped his identity-

Slay the Goblins.

His legend overshadowed his name, if he had any to begin with. It left not a man, but a self-made predator that hunted and sought Goblins for the simplicity of revenge. That revenge that became the defining part of him, that may have left him a hollow imitation of a man without the help of what he would soon call comrades in arms, friends.

But the one summoned was a Berserker, and the one who was summoned was the one who could never return to the idea of normalcy, consumed by this revenge.

The skill afflicting him was Mad Enhancement, ranked the highest at EX.

And thanks to it, his parameters have been modified compared to what it had been when still a living human.

Strength: A

Endurance: A

Agility: A+

Magical Power: E

Good Luck: D

Noble Phantasm: B

An ordinary man, determined, but still human, yet the blessing of his Class skill allowed him to surpass his physical limitations and become stronger than he ever was in life.

His revenge and obsession was the madness that defined him, but it was not "rage", it was an obsession, twisting his mind to the only thing he could think of. Thus, he was not the typical roaring Berserker incapable of speech.

He reached tranquility with his madness, accepting it, at the cost of his being and will consumed.

All that he could see, all that occupied his mind, was his personal Quest.

"I will slay the Goblins." His words gave Emayla no relief.

There were no Goblins in this world, but the mechanisms of his mind warped and his eyes did not accept reality, and so it created a fiction.

All threats to himself and his Master, to him, through his eyes, were Goblins.

Despite how illogical it was for their height, or how they spoke like humans, or wore full garments and employed advanced weaponry, it did not matter.

They were Goblins in his eyes, through and through.

That was Personal Skill, Goblin Sight, ranked A+, the eyes of a madman puppeteered by his revenge who could not accept the idea of abandoning this life.

And yet, he found himself comforting a girl who was supposed to be his Master, whose soft features and age did not fit a soldier. He could only imagine what circumstances led her here.

"Do not be afraid, Master." Berserker said, his second hand on Emayla's other shoulder, focusing her gaze upon him, yet she was not met with a void this time, but the faint sight of determined crimson eyes. "The Goblins will not harm you anymore, this I swear. I will protect you until you survive this war."

"You will...save me from the Goblins…?" She was simply confused. Was he being insulting towards the Reich?

"Yes." He replied, instantly and bluntly. "You already know this, Master. I will kill the Goblins, for I am the Goblin Slayer."


	2. i am lost

The echoes of war rang beyond the battlefields they took place. The sound of gunshots and splattered blood rang common in Justus Welker's ears, even now, as he stood before the Servant he had summoned alongside his companions: the Nazi Masters, the Special Assault Leaders of the Third Reich. A unique rank given to the few Magi that exist within it, and the fewer who had the potential to become Masters.

But a schism has occurred and disturbed their plan. For now, only he and two other Special Assault Leaders have succeeded in summoning their Servants.

He turned away from his Servant to look back at his fellow Masters inside the ritual room within their hidden base. A room only available to these seven, and no one else.

"Why?! Why didn't it work?!" One of the Masters exclaimed, furious. A Command Spell hasn't even appeared on the back of his hand, or anywhere, for that matter. He and others have searched and found nothing.

They were not chosen by the Grail, which could only mean…

"Damn, they acted out already…?" Another failed Master said. "The information leak… We weren't fast enough."

"We couldn't proceed with the summoning. We lacked the catalysts still," Justus said, trying to ease the others. "But we have three Servants. That means there are four Masters out there. If they are a single coordinated group, then they have the numbers advantage, even if by only one." He said, looking at the one he had summoned.

Although she looked like a beautiful woman with azure hair, the woman stood taller than Justus, and had a lithe build. Yet she wore gauntlets and armor around her shoulders, arms and legs, with a chestpiece strapped, possessing decorative wing-like patterns upon their steel surface.

Her eyes did not commune any sort of emotion, yet he noticed the crimson sheen across them almost immediately, almost divine in nature.

Justus, an average sized male with simple grey hair and green eyes, stood before this Heroic Spirit, his Servant.

Rider.

"Hey, Justus! Who's your Servant?" Leon Wagner, one of the rejected Masters, asked Justus.

"She's a Rider-class. However, I will not disclose her True Name to anyone," Justus replied. "Following our last information leak, we must be more diligent in avoiding another. If the enemy already obtained the last one, then we will lose our final advantage with the True Names revealed."

"Then how do you suggest we fight together, when we don't even know each other's skillsets?!" Leon angrily answered back.

"We?" Justus did not ask, he was merely mocking Leon. "What part do you have in the Special Assault Squadron, Wagner? You were rejected by the Grail. What a shame, and you were oh-so-confident in your noble Magus blood."

Before Leon could utter another word, he was halted by the interference of one of the successful Masters.

"That's enough. In-fighting is just what the enemy wants!" So said Baldur Dietrich, as he stood beside a cloaked shadow. "I have summoned an Assassin-class Servant, and he can assist us already in finding one of the culprits who stole the Command Spells from our rightful hands."

"Oh? That's quite an ability." Leon whistled, impressed.

"Show them, Assassin," Baldur commanded Assassin, who obliged.

The shadow in the vague form of a man moved fluid like wind, and took hold of a solid form. A single hand outstretched, and fleshless, bony hand came out. A skeleton, clad in pitch black robes.

An hourglass materialized in the palm of his hand, with the sands at the top of it unmoving, defying the laws of gravity.

The identity of this oddity, this "Heroic Spirit" that epitomized the Ultimate Silent Killer, was the manifestation of humanity's greatest fear, of the one they try to escape for as long as possible.

"He" was never human, nor was he ever alive to begin with.

"He" was the machine that the World created when the realization of immortality's futility surfaced full force, when "Beginning" was met with "End".

"He" operated not by will, nor by desire, but simply by the task at hand. There was no room for morality, nor consideration or deep thought at the actions "he" partook in.

The Legend that surrounded this Heroic Spirit was twisted by Humanity's fear of oblivion and the void that came after life, and became a symbol of a scythe that comes to reap them away.

"He" was naught but the Harvester of Souls, there for when the time has come. Never to do the deed himself, simply being a guide, but never a killer.

And yet that fear qualified him for the Assassin-class, the irony of it all.

The Grim Reaper that comes for all, be they commoners, be they poor, be they nobles, Kings or even Gods.

His True Name was Death, the Inevitable End of All that Lives.

"Hourglass," he uttered, a voice like marbles rolling across a clear surface. "Death Comes for All."

The sands began to trickle down to the bottom of the hourglass. A simple C+ Rank Noble Phantasm, yet it possessed a unique quality.

It was considered an Anti-Life Noble Phantasm. It targeted those whose deaths were near, that Assassin wished to find, and its classification was due to being capable of ending a specific individual's life indirectly.

The individual they sought had to be near a coming death that would arrive within two years minimum, and by doing so, Assassin had the unique privilege of allowing an earlier death, averting the original, though he could not do so himself, as it has to be done by the hands of another

Death is not permitted to create death, ironic as that statement may be. The Grim Reaper, the more accurate title, was just as the name implied. He reaped souls, harvested them from those who passed so they may reach the afterlife safely

The scythe was not an instrument of death, but an instrument of agriculture.

He did not need to know the name or face of the target, simply some specific information, and "a Master with Command Spells" was specific enough to pinpoint it.

However, he did not locate anything.

Instead, Assassin chased after a death near his target, with the specific information of "an acquaintance of the Master with the Command Spells", and found one, an aging Magus named Ortez who had made contact with the Master.

The Grim Reaper was always aware of everyone's names, those who passed and those who would. Hourglass was his method of keeping track and locating them, knowing how much time they have, and also finding those who needed to be harvested soon.

"I have located the location nearest to the Master," Assassin said. "Act fast, or ye shall miss this opportunity."

"Excellent work, Assassin, haha!" Baldur proudly bellowed. "I have the location within the scape of my mind, and I will send the order to the nearest soldiers in the area! Fear not, Wagner, we will obtain those Command Spells for you yet!"

"What about us?!" The other Masters voiced their complaints.

"Impossible," Assassin replied. "My Noble Phantasm will not activate again until the target I located will die, or has killed someone during the encounter, so until then I cannot locate the next Master or anyone in their vicinity."

"Then we shall execute this operation as fast as possible!" Leon exclaimed. "Actually, bring that Master alive. I want to take his Command Spells myself," he continued, with a sadistic glee in his voice.

"Haha, that's right, Wagner! Take what's rightfully yours!" Baldur encouraged his ally. "Let's hope it's a Jew so we can relish that!"

"Keh, I'd rather die than take Command Spells of a dirty Jew," Leon spat.

"Then you may as well give it up by now." The last chosen Master of the Reich spoke, a tall blonde woman with blue eyes, the spitting image of the Third Reich's ideal Aryan soldier, Abelard Krieger "If something as a filthy jew's property is enough to make you shoot yourself, I suggest you do us a favor, and eliminate yourself now."

Special Assault Leader

That rank that was exclusive to the chosen Magi to become Masters during this cheated Holy Grail War

It gave them authority over almost anyone that wasn't the Fuhrer himself, a unique position that many other, less accomplished Nazi Magi envied

However, even among them, stood the Special Assault Commanding Leader, who had authority over her fellow Masters, the Leader of the group so to say

Abelard Krieger, a woman with no noble blood or Magi Bloodline, much less a Magic Crest, yet her Magic Circuits were an odd mutation among Mage Society, and through her wicked devotion and belief in the Fuhrer and the Reich's goals, coupled with her efficient and ruthless combat as a soldier, had managed to prove herself a special and talented individual even among these prodigies

Indeed, with a sabre at her hip, and a rifle strapped around her shoulder at all time, this woman embodied the Apex of the Third, and had summoned the class believed to dwarf all others in strength.

Saber.

"Special Assault Commanding Leader Krieger," Leon visibly winced at the incredibly long title. "To share flesh with a Jew is-..."

"I will hear none of it." She silenced him. "Our flesh and blood is forfeit for the sake of the Fuhrer, any hesitancy is a sign of noncompliance and I will not accept that. Am I clear?"

Leon grunted, displeased. "Understood, Leader."

"What of us?!" The other Masters spoke up.

"We will obtain your stolen Command Spells next. For now, we should be glad we secured Saber. Assassin's skill will allow us to locate the other imposter Masters and reclaim what we've lost."

"We should act upon it now! We must! We should scourge every inch of the country until we find those bastards!" One of the Masters continued to pester her "I've worked tirelessly for this position, and to have it taken right under my nose like this, it's shameful for one of Magi blood like me!"

"Your Magi blood matters not in this case. Unless you created a Magecraft capable of stealing Command Spells from unseen Masters, of course." She said, with the slightest hint of mockery.

"Krieger, you are a peasant compared to me! I am of noble blood! I come from a prestigious family! In fact if anyone is worth that Saber, it would be m-...!"

"Saber," Abelard uttered, and without a moment to waste, the Servant moved, and with a single swift motion of the black knight's blade, decapitated the blasphemous Master. Blood did not even escape from the wound, the motion and swing of his blade was so perfect the body did not react to it.

The Master's body fell limp on the floor, his head rolling across the floor.

Saber, one of the Three Knight Classes out of the Seven Servant Classes, and among those seven, the Saber was considered the strongest. And by summoning that class, Abelard has proven herself someone worthy of wielding such power.

The Saber she summoned had an ominous energy about him.

He was clad in a black armor, the darkness paradoxically illuminating with its grandeur black, as if one could drown by simply staring into it for too long. It was nothing ornate or grandiose, it looked like any soldier of the middle ages, and yet the helmet looked like a cage of teeth, obscuring the knight's face, an even deeper abyss lying within.

Atop his shoulder, was a contrasting red cape, fur along the shoulder and collar area, in a wild manner akin to a beast's hide.

And his sword, the qualification to be a Saber, was a silver blade with dark cracks across it like lightning, a hefty and bulky blade with a strong guard.

Abelard felt confident in her victory with this Black Knight by her side, but not for being a Saber, but for the identity of the man behind that helmet.

But that is only for her to know.

"Now," Abelard spoke, breaking the silence of shocked onlookers "Dietrich, after the squadron retrieves the Command Spells, use Assassin once again to find the other Masters. We will find a replacement for this roach." She directed her gaze towards the remaining unworthy Masters. "Until then, you are denounced of your rank as Special Assault Leaders, and will be given soldiers to chase the Masters- until you retrieve those Command Spells, of course."

Her words pierced through their pride, but they wouldn't dare speak further and share the same fate as their fellow disgraced Master.

Abelard left the ritual room, her silent knight following her diligently.

"The order's been sent." Baldur said. He had already sent a familiar, faster than giving the order to a soldier or trying to catch someone via the comms "It should be dealt with any minute now."

"That's good," Justus replied. "Now, we should become more familiar with our Servants. We may know Assassin's True Name, but Rider and Saber can maintain theirs. The strategies we can make solo and as a team are vital to victory, Dietrich."

"Understood, boss man," Baldur playfully replied. He was aware he and Justus were the same rank, but it was only by way of their special circumstances. In terms of quality, Justus was above him, and so he took to looking at him like a senior, despite being the older one.

The Masters departed from the room as well, and to their private quarters. The ones who weren't denied their Command Spells by the Grail took the opportunity to meet their Servants properly this time.

Even with the loss of four, they would not be deterred.

At the time of that, Emayla had summoned Berserker, who defended his Master and saved her life, the maddened warrior who hunts the Goblins, but in another portion of the city, another new face had arrived.

Wearing plain black clothes, the woman came down from the train, carrying only one briefcase with her.

She lacked many feminine qualities besides her shoulder length brown hair, though it was unkempt and not at all taken care of, as one would expect of a lady.

Her eyes did not do her any favors, either. Black and plain, nothing notable, and simply being off-putting and intimidating if anything. With her rather masculine clothes and broad shoulders, one wouldn't be blamed for mistaking her for a man from a distance away.

The woman did not mind, however, for she had an important, divine mission to get to.

Yes, one would call her a messenger of God, a deliverer of His word.

A woman of the Lord, a follower of the Holy Church and its teachings.

An Angel of Death.

An abandoned church, at the outskirts of the city. Most likely burnt by the Nazis with all its valuables stolen before that, trashed and left untouched for who knows how long.

The wooden seats were scorched, the walls had markings and ashes, and the windows broken and metal melted.

She could sense the vengeful spirits of the dead still in the air.

"O' Father, in Heaven." She bowed her head before the broken and crumbled statue of her God "Bless me with your Might so I may smite those who besmirched your name and sanctum."

The mission given to her by the Church was similar. After the leak reached them, they acted fast, and recklessly. The Holy Grail was an important and prized item that they simply had to obtain, especially before the Mage's Association, and so they sent their finest Priest, an anomaly among her peers.

She was an Executioner of the Church for most of her life, and has in fact taken up jobs as a mercenary before she joined, thus she grew into the role quite fast.

A frightening woman, who lacked any sort of faith prior to meeting a certain Priest.

Until then, she was a mere bastard child of a Russian immigrant father and a Japanese prostitute mother, with no home or place to go to, but the man who gave her a helping hand gave her a new name, a family, and from there, she devoted herself to the teachings of the Lord and the Church.

The devotion she showed scared even veterans, which eventually allowed her to enter the rankings and inner workings of the Church. The same Priest who saved her became her mentor throughout it all, honing her skills and body to a proficient weapon of the Church.

That was the woman named Katarina, who possessed an unparalleled and downright zealous devotion to the Church and God, equal only to her fist.

A Zealot Priest in Black, with the skill and unwavering faith to accomplish the mission she was given no matter the cost.

The mark on the back of her hand, the Command Spells, was proof that she was chosen, deemed worthy by the Grail to lead a part in the war.

However, this was not an ordinary Command Spell. Thanks to the Church's research and Katarina's resilient body and Magic Circuits, she was the first successful creation of a "Pre-War Master", an individual with the capacity to wield and be chosen even before the Grail War began, assuring her a spot, taking priority over any other Magi in the scene.

It covered her entire right arm, stretching from her fingertips, to her shoulder and to the black on her shoulder blade. It looks almost seraphic, an angel's wing gifted to her by the Divine Father, as if it's a sign that nothing shall stand in her way, with talons and feathers to complete the look.

To say she felt empowered would be an understatement.

The summoning was next on the list, however.

Placing her briefcase on the side, Katarina opened it, pulling out her catalysts. She was given multiple choices. Sadly, the Church's resources were severely damaged due to the ongoing conflicts, particularly against the Mage's Association, the war itself not helping whatsoever. Regardless, Katarina was given four available catalysts.

She placed them on the floor, arranged neatly in a row.

A silver coin of a man who betrayed his friend.

A dagger of an ancient civilization that kept a God at bay.

A broken piece of a Hero's shield who fought and won against impossible odds.

And a silver medal of an unknown rank that did not exist in any known military records.

This decision was important, and Katarina could not be careless, but at the same time she shouldn't waste time. The enemy could already be seeking her out, even at this remote location.

There was no telling how much time she had.

Fortunately, she was made aware of the exact amount when a bullet shot through the window, striking away the silver coin from the stone pavement, signalling that it was zero seconds.

With her self-preservation instinct kicking in, Katarina grabbed two catalysts before the second sniper shot struck the shield fragment, leaping out of the way.

However, the church doors were kicked open by soldiers. Without thinking, Katarina threw the dagger at the first soldier, stabbing into his jugular, causing him to collapse, and with one bound, she cracked the stone floor, shooting forth and kneeing the next soldier near him, the skull shattering from the impact.

Before she could think about recovering the dagger, the next three soldiers entered.

She did not need to perform any active thought when in combat. Katarina's mind and body were honed into the art of combat by a strong need for survival, and when danger made itself clear, her body went on auto-pilot, like a machine that processes information and immediately responded with the correct answer.

That is not to say she did not have any thought into her actions. Priorities, strategy, and ideas still remained in her mind. It was much clearer and easier to rationally think of her next move, when her body was doing most of the work by itself, without much mental input on her part.

It was calming, in a strange way.

Katarina felt like she was floating in clouds, despite the union of fist to skull, the splatter of blood and the shattering of bones.

By the time she had stopped, Katarina found herself surrounded by the three soldiers' corpses, defeated with one strike to specific body parts.

The head-

The heart-

And the throat.

It was quick and efficient, like an Assassin carrying the brute force of a tank.

Katarina took a deep breath, before quickly ducking, narrowly avoiding another sniper shot.

Two snipers. They were both from the left and right, most likely to cover one another's blind spots, and use the element of surprise. She couldn't dismiss the idea there was a third or even fourth sniper hiding, waiting for her to rear her head out again.

"Ahem." However, her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of more soldiers, led by someone who looked more important than the others. "Greetings, Madam," he said, trying to sound as polite as possible. "My name is Karl, and those Command Spells belong to me." He pointed at the obvious red markings on her right hand, unaware of how far it extended "So, despite losing five soldiers so far, I will give you the chance to leave today alive, by surrendering me those Command Spells."

That was a lie.

Karl had no intention of sparing her. As Assassin's Hourglass found her, it meant he was the harbinger of death sent to execute her. And since her death was near enough to allow it, her death was already set in stone.

He wasn't willing to play fair for the sake of what was stolen from him.

"I have snipers stationed in multiple spots. Not to mention more soldiers waiting in back up," he continued. "I will overlook these murders, and even allow you to leave the country alive! Isn't that an excellent trade?"

"..." Katarina stood silent for a moment. Her body was still, almost like a statue, and her eyes unblinking, focused on Karl. The situation was indeed not in her favor, and no one would blame her for choosing to surrender in this situation. Anyone would take this offer.

However, Katarina was not "anyone", and with her faith in God and her purpose, she replied:

"O' Father, art in Heaven," with one step, and one leap, she closed the distance between Karl and the soldiers. However, he pushed himself back, throwing one of his men at Katarina's mercy. "Take mine cloth, wrap forth the shining Star and Son," she continued her incantation, punching the soldier in the chest with her bajiquan, utterly annihilating his internal organs into a mash of meat.

"Suffer me my sins, and answer this Prayer," The soldiers aimed their guns at her, but before they could pull the triggers, she finished her prayer.

"Shine, and caress me with your Light."

The medal in her hand shone, and the Mana exuding from the summoning of the Heroic Spirit blinded the soldiers, pushing them back as well. The snipers were blindsided by the light as well, preventing them from getting a clear view.

It was a swirl of energy, a maelstrom, a more proper entrance for a Heroic Spirit.

But it vanished with a whimper, leaving behind…

No one.

No Hero was visible, not even an ant, shocking the soldiers.

"Ha! I guess you weren't worthy after all, you damn whore!" Karl boasted from the rear of his squadron. "Shoot her dead, men! But leave her right arm untouched, understand?!"

The soldiers bellowed, aiming their many rifles at Katarina, but froze upon hearing her next words.

"Caster," Katarina spoke. "Execute."

An explosion, and then two, three, four and five, wiping out all the snipers that were taking aim from a safe distance away in an instant.

"Wha-...?!" Just as Karl turned, a bullet was fired at his men, exploding violently and ripping them apart, leaving behind a gored mess of Nazi soldiers, some still alive but dismembered and whimpering in pain, the shockwave knocking others down, including Karl. "Where...Where is that Servant?!" Karl exclaimed, getting back on his feet.

From the smoke of the explosion, Katarina emerged, wielding strange thin swords with red hilts, the Black Keys of the Church, holding three in between her fingers. She stabbed all three into Karl's leg, forcing him just as fast down on his rear, yelling in pain.

"So…" A new voice entered the scene, one quite young "You are my Master?" Katarina turned to face the Servant she summoned, a Caster-class.

However, she was taken aback by witnessing Caster's appearance. A young petite girl with striking blonde hair and brilliant azure eyes. She wore a thick overcoat and a strange contraption that looked like a single ski sled on her right leg, and wielded an old war rifle, one that seemed to date back from World War 1.

A child, a simple child, summoned as a Caster, dressed as a soldier/

Katarina was simply speechless, emoting the most she has since she arrived in the Netherlands.

"I… do not understand," Katarina could only mutter those words.

"A fucking… child…?! You summoned such a pitiful…!" Karl angrily spat, only to have the Black Keys dug deeper into his leg for his troubles.

"I understand your confusion, Master. I, too, am confused as to why I am here, and in this form." Caster said, landing down in front of her Master. " I am also surprised I am back into my world, and in the past, to boot. This is quite a predicament."

"Hm. I see. We will require a proper exchange of information via verbal means." Katarina said, her rather flowery way of saying "let's talk" confusing Caster "But first." She turned to Karl

"N-...No…! You were supposed to die! That was set in stone! It was fate!" Karl frightfully said, confused as to how Assassin's Noble Phantasm was wrong, unaware that there was never a guarantee the located target would be killed in the first place. "I...I am the great Karl! I am a chosen Master of the Reich, under the guidance of the Fuhrer himself! You filthy whore…! How dare y-...?!"

He was suddenly silenced by a shot blowing half his cranium off, catching Katarina off-guard, who turned to see that the culprit was Caster.

Caster sighed, smoking from the barrel of her rifle. "To think I would be summoned in one of human history's worst and darkest wars." She was clearly displeased, shaking her head .

"Now then," Katarina spoke. "Explain yourself, if you may. The memory link between seems to have an iss-..."

"There is no issue with our Memory Link, Master." Caster replied. "I merely placed boundaries of my own volition already. I hope you understand but I do not wish to have my True Name revealed to anyone, not even you."

Katarina was stunned for a moment, but composed herself. "Caster, I understand the secrecy of the True Name is of utmost importance, but I am your Master and we are a single unit, so we must operate together as such," she explained "I am an Executioner of the Church. I am a practitioner of Bajiquan, and possess Magecraft in the field of restoration. Furthermore-..."

"I already know all that. I peered into your mind." Caster interrupted Katarina again. "There is no need for that. You are permitted to see my parameters and skills, but my Noble Phantasm shall remain nameless to you or anyone else."

"Caster." Katarina growled lightly "Do you have a severe distrust of me? Your Master?"

"Do not be offended, Master, I simply have an aversion to the people of God," Caster replied, as Katarina noticed the cross necklace had made its way underneath her collar and to the forefront while she was fighting.

"Ah, I see. An atheist?" Katarina asked.

"Ha, atheist," Caster mockingly replied with a laugh. "That implies I have acknowledged that the idea of God was possible at some point, and have since chosen to not believe in it. No, Master, I never believed in such an existence to begin with, a thing known as God is logically an impossibility, and even now, summoned as a Heroic Spirit, I stand true by that. I reject the very notion of such a thing, and no matter what you show me or try to prove, I will never accept that existence."

Katarina remained silent for a moment, contemplating the blasphemous words coming out of Caster's mouth, before sighing.

"We must leave the area. Soldiers will surely continue to come," Katarina said. "The Church has taken care of an apartment complex filled and managed by allies. There, we will be able to discuss our next move more calmly."

"You've got a point." Caster said. "Until we arrive at our destination, however, I still need to process the information of the era. The Root granted me the necessary details, but I'm still lacking."

In her mind, however, Caster had different priorities.

"This is clearly not the exact same world I originate from! For starters, what is this Heroic Spirit business? What is this Root? Throne of Heroes? I suppose my contributions to the Empire during the war did paint me as a Hero. But still! This was the last thing I wanted! To be returned, alive, but as someone's lackey to battle in not just any war, but during World War II! Of all the historical periods of humanity!"

She was displeased, to say the least.

"Is this your doing again, Being X? Was the deal not you would leave me if I managed to die by natural means?" She audibly sighed. "Master, let's go." With a simple gesture, Caster's body became spiritual, invisible to the eyes of everyone, and allowed Katarina's mana reserves to be saved up for later.

A long walk and a change of clothes later, Katarina and Caster arrived at the apartment complex, one bought using the Church's enormous funds, securing a base of operations for Katarina.

It was protected by the Bounded Field created by the Magi within it, allowing for a layer of safety and protection should they be attacked.

"Now then," Katarina spoke, as Caster returned to a physical form, making herself comfortable in the room they were given. A quaint and acceptable place to rest and regain their stamina. "Caster, explain to me the circumstances with you. Why do you refuse to reveal information with me?"

"Before that, Master," Caster stretched her hand. "I would like to see the catalyst you used to summon me." Katarina seemed confused, but saw no reason to deny her. She handed Caster the silver medal, the one used to summon her

"How curious. My Silver Wing Assault Badge. How did you procure this?"

"I did not, the Church did. It was one of the catalysts. I was given three others, but unfortunately, due to the sudden assault, I had to summon you soon as possible against the soldiers," Katarina replied. "That badge itself was a valued collectors item said to belong to quite the war hero, one who managed to change the war in favor of their country in significant ways with their unit, that they led into many battles, though it was a simple legend and the soldier didn't seem to truly exist, despite the stories supposedly taking place in the last war not that long ago. Even so it meant the Heroic Spirit summoned wouldn't be quite so powerful, but that is, of course, if you are even from the same world."

"So you figured it out." Caster grinned lightly. "You guessed right, Master. I do indeed come from a world that suffered a war not unlike that one, but the circumstances were different. Familiar, but different enough. What bothers me however, is how does this badge exist in this world, unless some cruel being decided to…" Caster suddenly went quiet, noticing something engraved onto the back of the medal.

Deus lo Vult.

God wills it.

"Being X…"

"Being X?" Katarina asked, inquiring on the name/

"That bastard wasn't settled on letting it end even after I died, huh?" Caster mused cryptically. "Master, I changed my mind. There is no need to hide it from you."

"Why the change of heart?"

"Because, I realized something important." Caster's grin widened further. "My legend is a mere legend, and it sounds quite obscure. I believe that this is an advantage I have over our opponents. Yes, somehow my legend exists in this world, but they know me simply as the Devil Soldier."

"Then," Katarina said. "Tell me, what is your True Name, Caster?"

Caster held her rifle, next to her body. It surpassed her in height, as she extended her arm forward in a dramatic manner.

The child that stood before Katarina was indeed a soldier who fought for the sake of their countries during what historians would call "World War One", but before that, she was a simple Japanese salaryman who suffered an unfortunate death by the way of a fired employee who held a grudge, acting on emotion before reason.

Thrown in front of a train, "he" was met with a creature calling itself "God".

However, the salaryman had no faith and no logical reason to believe nor pray to any God.

Blasphemous.

Logical, rational.

Acting by reason and by what he saw rather than what he heard.

Self-preserving and valuing survival.

That was the salaryman who angered the one he referred to as "Being X".

That salaryman was reincarnated as a girl, still with the mind of an adult male, and soon took every advantage she could in order to ensure survival, and to spite Being X, who believed that when in dire straits, the reincarnated salaryman would find faith and pray for God.

The legend somehow existed in this world as well. A world similar to where the salaryman, same history, locations and geography, but the details of it were different, such as the existence of Magecraft, Phantasmal Beasts, and above all else, this Holy Grail War.

A misunderstanding within the Throne of Heroes created by this legend brought her forth as the Caster Servant, despite her logically still being alive in her own world by this point in time.

It defied time and reason, but one could only assume the reasons were something related to the Third Reich's flawed summoning system and meddling.

"My rank fluctuated and changed as I continued my war efforts, but call me Major," Caster said.

"Major Tanya von Degurechaff, Leader of the Imperial Army 203rd Air Mage Battalion!" She boasted with such palpable pride you could taste the coffee in her breath. "The legends may have downplayed my achievements, but fear not, as I exist now, I will ensure you victory, and when I obtain the Holy Grail, I will be given the wish I want above all else!"

"And what is that, Caster?"

"To come face to face with the so-called God, and shoot him."

To shoot God, the truest and most blasphemous wish .

Katarina already heard Caster's rejection of God, but to go this far...

How could someone despise Him so?

"An impossible wish. You cannot kill God. He is the infinity, the beginning and the end, He-..."

"I've heard it before, Master." Caster interjected. "But no matter how much you try, I simply cannot and will not accept the existence of God. A benevolent all-powerful being, who somehow allows a war like this to occur, cannot exist, but he is not a Devil either, thus I refer to him as a simple unique existence, Being X."

"His benevolence is His will to forgive us, and the suffering is a consequence of our free will. God merely wants the best for us."

"Then eliminate free will, o' mighty God!" Caster exclaimed. "If God is so mighty and powerful, why not snap his fingers and eliminate all illness and misfortune? Humanity's free will is why we are creatures of chaos, then simply remove our free will! Surely, such a being can do that, no?!"

"That is not what He wants for us." Katarina continued to try and maintain a calm demeanor. "His plan is not for us to know, but to wait for it."

"Ha, I see you won't budge, and neither will I," Caster shook her head. "We'll get nowhere with this. So, Master, let's focus more on our next move."

"You are correct," Katarina sighed. "You know our goal here already, I assume."

"Yes," She replied. "At least one thing me and you can agree on is the vileness of our enemies, the Nazis," Caster had a venomous tone when speaking that name. "I hate war, Master. It's a waste of a country's economy and human resources, and does nothing but regress us back rather than make any meaningful progress, but there are two things I do not mind about war."

"An excuse to murder adversaries?"

"Heh, if that's what you want to call it," Caster chuckled. "In a war, I was given the unique opportunity to kill en masse the ones who impose themselves on the freedom of an individual, the communists, but if I had one regret, is that it was still World War One, so my gun never got the chance to kill Nazis."

"I see. So you can still revel in acting out your role as a soldier, when it is a target you dislike," Katarina said. "With no fear or acknowledgement of God, I suppose you do not fear divine judgement."

"Divine judgement doesn't frighten me, Master, it's people. And the Nazis, they were among the most frightening. I have knowledge ahead of you, for reasons I will not disclose, but I assure you, their crimes will not be forgotten for many, many, many years. And I, with this rare opportunity, will be allowed to enact some rightful judgement upon them."

Her smile twisted into a murderous glee, looking forward to the inevitable battles.

"I hate war, and I hate participating in it, the people who instigate and intensify it. But if I can shoot without restraint upon those fools and barbarians, I will have the greatest high! Master! Let us crush the Reich, and win this Holy War! Opposition of faith or ideology matters not, because the enemy we fight is a Devil in human form!"

"For once, we can agree," Katarina said. "We will win, that is the focus. We can make debates about our beliefs at a more appropriate time."

"Ah, but Master, I have one last question. Something I can't quite see in your mind, if you don't mind," Caster inquired, as Katarina listened. "What is your surname? Your full name? I am owed that too, no?"

Katarina nodded, before answering.

"The name I had before Father found me is pointless, so you will address me by my new name," she said, before speaking out her full name.

"Katarina Kotomine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'ere's chapter two, took a while, but life's been super stressful and keeping me busy. Regardless, I hope you enjoy


	3. i am red

“You are a soldier now, Ywen.” 

When she was told those words, Emayla felt pride and puffed her chest up to emphasize that feeling.

Her teacher and tutor, Kazuma Matou, was the one to relay the message to her. A dreary blue-haired fellow with grey eyes, but nonetheless a supportive and powerful Magus of the Clock Tower.

When he said those words, Emayla thought them to be something of honor, to bring a great repute to her family, her mother, her father.

But today, Emayla realized what being a “soldier” meant, and how she was not fit for that role.

“Berserker…” Emayla called her Servant, the Heroic Spirit of Goblin Slayer, who was busy inspecting every nook and cranny of the room.

It was a small hotel room; another secret hideout the Clock Tower had prepared in case such an event would happen that would make the first one compromised, and the building was owned by a elderly lady named Edaline.

She didn’t speak much with her. Emayla was quite drained, to say the least.

The sun was already beginning to set as well, and nighttime was coming.

“Are you… done…?” She asked him.

“No,” Berserker quickly and with a dry tone answered. He was a strict and professional individual in his mannerisms, to the point that he acted more like a machine performing maintenance on an automated system rather than like a human being. “I must make sure the place is secure, in case more Goblins appear.”

“Goblins…” Emayla understood what was happening with Berserker.

His Personal Skill, Goblin Sight, had the highest rank ofEX, and caused Berserker to witness anything deemed “enemy” as “goblin”, as a way of adjusting himself into this goblin-less world or as some sort of counter mechanism to make him more manageable, since in any other circumstance he would refuse to even engage non-goblin threats, no matter the reason

Yes, his Mad Enhancement too had the rank of EX, the pinnacle of his revenge and obsessive hate transforming it into Goblin Sight, erasing whatever trace of humanity could be still felt within him, putting a machine in its place.

Berserker has devoted himself to the art of goblin-slaying, and he was not ready to give it up, even in this after-death state.

But for his Master, out of an obligation, he was willing to engage against Heroic Spirits only indirectly, to achieve victory for her and to obtain the omnipotent wish-granting cup, the Holy Grail.

“Do you see any…?” Emayla asked. “Faults in this room, I mean.”

“Yes” he replied, but didn’t say more.

“...Care to explain them?” She specified.

“Yes.” Once again, a simple reply “These windows are gated with metal bars, but a Goblin could easily bypass it with their small bodies. Though those were abnormally large, human-sized Goblins, intelligent too. Regardless, they can still shatter the window and use arrows or throwing knives, so please stay away from the window.”

He was meticulous.

“The floor underneath us is weak as well. It is old. We are on a top floor, so if it broke we could fall, which would be disastrous. Not to mention, escaping through the stairs would be a waste. Jumping out would be faster but more risky.”

“I get it, I get it…” Emayla said “But those weren’t goblins back there. They were Nazi Soldiers. You know what a Nazi is, right?”

“Yes,” Berserker said, seemingly done at last. The sound of his heavy armor creaking and thudding with every step he made was sure to wake up anyone trying to sleep. He noticed on Emayla’s face that she wanted to hear more again. “The Throne of Heroes, the Root, whatever those are, have given me the basic necessary information to understand this world I am in. The Nazis are indeed vile creatures, I could understand mistaking them for Goblins with their atrocity and debauchery, but I assure you, those were not Nazis, they were Goblins. Green skin, large noses, yellow eyes, jagged and dirty teeth.”

“You know that goblins are a demeaning caricature of Jews, don’t you?” Emayla said.

“I am aware, but the Jews are not Goblins. They are people, like you and me, Goblins are not. It is a puzzling comparison. Makes no sense,” Berserker said, the most he has spoken.

He walked towards the only work desk in the room, placing a rifle he picked up from the soldiers along with the ammo he also looted from them, as well as a grenade, and a knife 

“What are you doing now?” Emayla asked.

“Preparations,” he replied. “My Noble Phantasm is classified Anti-Personnel or, from a different perspective, Anti-Army, and is called Discard and Draw. I can understand any weapon I grab instantaneously, and adapt to its usage immediately. However, knowing and actually putting it to practice are two fundamentals that are not the same thing. So I am dismantling and seeing how it ticks with my own eyes.”

“W-... Wait…!” Emayla quickly panicked. “Don’t mess with that grenade! It's explosive!”

“I am aware.” Berserker replied. “I cannot fiddle with it, so how it operates will remain simply in my mind. Though I would like to try and create a duplicate myself. This thing can be invaluable against goblins, more efficient and powerful than the bombs I typically use. Even Goblins who are out of range would still get hit by shrapnel. And this…” He held the rifle, the same type he stole from the Nazis. “This is more powerful than any bow I’ve ever seen. Yes, I’ve seen firearms before, but they were primitive compared to this. I can fire more than a single shot consecutively.”

“You’re getting a bit too into this…” Emayla could feel the stinging bloodlust emanating from Berserker. One thing was for sure; this man hated the Goblins more than anything in this world or any other. That much was obvious. “Well...we should get rest, I think…”

“No.” Berserker replied “You rest. You don’t have to pretend today was not horrifying.” Berserker was all too familiar with the expressions of fear that were plastered across Emayla’s face when the soldiers had their hands on her. He was too familiar, and wished he could forget, but it was carved to his psyche nevertheless.

“Rest, Master. I will stand guard,” Berserker said to her, showing a caring side within his rough exterior.

Emayla sighed, rubbing her head. “Arguing would be a waste of time,” she said, walking over to the bed. “I’m changing to my pajamas, don’t look!”

“Yes.” He did as she asked, turning his back to her and not even attempting to peek for a moment, focusing solely on the rifle, fixated on its mechanisms and coming to better understand how it clicks together.

He already knew that, of course. Berserker knew where every piece went and its purpose, but to handle it with his hands, taking it apart, cleaning it and then putting it back together was an entirely separate experience.

It was an accumulation to his repertoire.

“Berserker,” Emayla called to her Servant, having changed to a simple white nightgown. “I heard the Berserker-class is typically lost in their madness, but you still behave normally. Are you… aware of that?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“...Well, I guess as long as I don’t have to worry about you losing control,” Emayla said “I didn’t expect to summon a Berserker… but at least the Nazis don’t have that class, it would have been a powerhouse with the right Heroic Spirit.”

“Yes,” he replied again.

“Where did all those words from before go? Not much for words anymore?”

“Not if there isn’t more to say.”

Eccentric and odd, that was the only impression Emayla had of him.

“But,” he suddenly spoke. “You should know that I am no powerhouse. We will not win on a frontal assault. Against Goblins, with this body of a Servant, I can fight them off with ease, but other Heroic Spirits are a different story.”

“...” Emayla looked forlorn, before getting under the sheets of her bed. “I’m sorry, there may have been better masters for you.”

“No.” Berserker said “My Master is my Master, and I don’t need to complain. You will win this Holy Grail War. For your wish.”

“Don’t you have a wish, Berserker?” she asked. “Ah, let me guess, it’s about goblins?”

“No,” Berserker’s answer surprised her. “My wish is to go back several years, and stop someone from succumbing to an unfortunate fate. From there, I will start my quest much earlier.”

The boy who would grow up to become Goblin Slayer-

The horrors he witnessed, hidden away in a small compartment, with only light being the cracks of the wood-

But the scream of the dear sister who protected him, her violation and gruesome end-

Even now, as he sat in a quiet room in the night, he still heard it loud and clear, the vision carved into his retinas, every second of it.

He could never forget.

“You want to save someone important to you, don’t you…?”

“Yes.” Berserker said, and the slightest change in tone gave Emayla the impression it was rooted in a painful memory.

Night came, consuming everything under its starry sky, and the day came to an end. No doubt an exciting day for many more people, those who live in ignorance of the truth, those who live in fear of the world, and those who have fought to live to see the next day, andto win the war.

Yes, the world was asleep once more. This part of the world, that is.

Within the secret base of the Nazis, the Masters were still hard at work, making plans and strategies.

The recapture of the four Masters was a failure on all fronts, and all but one of the rejected Nazi masters have died attempting to recover the Command Seals and Servant.

Leo Wagner, the sole surviving rejected Master, was the only one who held himself back and did not go outside himself to try and regain the stolen Command Seals.

Instead, he sent out a unit, with a specially assigned protege of his. Unfortunately, only one returned, and with him, a message.

“It was a man wielding a golden spear.”

No doubt, it was a Lancer-class Servant, part of the three Cavalry Classes, the warriors who wield polearms, possessing some of the greatest mobility, outdone only by Riders. Agile, quick and ranged, and possessing the Class skill of Magic Resistance.

Whoever the True Name of this Lancer is, having one as an enemy would be troublesome if it were allied with the Archer Servant.

Leo could only stare outside the window, peering down on the city, cursing his own inability.

“Wagner.” His attention and focus was disrupted by Justus calling him. “The strategy meeting was over. I thought it would be best to update you on the plan.”

“Hmph,” Leo scoffed. “What for? I’m not even a Master. What use do I have? A human, no matter how skilled, cannot fight and win against a Heroic Spirit.”

“No,” Justus inclined to agree, “But that’s only if you give up.”

“Who’s giving up? I just need to think of a plan. Some way to convince Special Commanding Leader Krieger to assist me in recovering a Command Seal,” Leo replied, growing more frustrated. “This is for the name of my family, and for the country I serve.”

“Well, I can try and put in a good word for you with Krieger.” Justus said, patting Leo on the shoulder in sympathy. “Ah, and also-” He placed a coin on the table next to him. “This is something you requested once, I believe. It was difficult to procure, so…” With that, Justus left the room and Leo to himself.

Taking the coin, he saw it was a golden piece, and looked quite old, ancient almost. Upon it, were engravings, something in an old language.

“Ah.” He realized what it was, a catalyst he requested that was not found due to being such a small piece, and so unknown as well, a coin that belonged that had its roots in one of Germany’s greatest stories.

Without further delay, Leo left his room, and with excitement in his body and his blood rushing through his veins, the adrenaline caused his heart to beat faster and faster.

He entered the ritual room, a soldier below his rank summoned alongside him..

“Special Leader Wagner, what are we doing?” The soldier asked.

“I need… I need your assistance,” Leo said, his black hair becoming unfurled and messy as his body began to shake more and more in anticipation, his emphasized black eyes bulging as he glared at the soldier. “This is an important task, soldier. For not only the country, but the Fuhrer himself! For the future of the Reich! Soldier, are you willing to do this?!”

“Y-...Yes!” The soldier didn’t think his answer through, being engrossed by the prospect of being such an important asset.

“Excellent.” Without warning, Leo pulled out a handgun, firing a single bullet at the soldier’s knee, causing him to buckle and fall on the floor, yelping in pain. “Stop crying! This is for the good of the Reich!” He exclaimed, as the blood began to spread around the soldier, controlled by Leo’s prana, forcing it into the shape of a summoning circle

“S-...Special Leader… What… I don’t understand!” The soldier was afraid, as he saw a single gold coin drop down in front of him.

“O’ Lord of the Gate,” Leo began to chant “O’ Fourth and Fifth, Third and Sixteenth.” The soldier attempted to yell again, but only got a boot to his head for his trouble.

“Fangs and Scales, Riches for the Hearth, come and answer, answer, answer, answer!” Leo's voice became more bombastic, but his speech deranged. “Take the Blood I offer, and bring to me, bring the one who is born of Hatred!”

The foul blood encroached onto the soldier, and his wailing only got louder, but amidst the shouting Leo’s leg was caught by the fanged blood, trapping him in the summoning ritual.

“Shit…!” Leo felt the ritual consume his leg, as he saw the soldier’s body begin to be consumed, first flesh, then meat and eventually bones, as did his leg.

He could feel every cell and atom ripped apart and cleanly wiped off, his pained screaming reaching the ears of others.

“Wagner!” Baldur called out, the first to enter the room. Without hesitation, he drew a combat knife, reinforcing it ever so slightly, and with one swing, chopped Leo’s leg off, freeing him and pulling him away.

The blood burst into a tower of crimson, howlings and roars emanating from it, the halls becoming enriched with the ominous haunt of a horrible creature.

The tower withered away.

It left nothing behind, not even the soldiers’ bones or Leo’s left leg.

“Are you okay, Wagner?!” Baldur asked, quickly tearing off his sleeve and wrapping it around Leo’s leg, stopping the severe bleeding “What are you standing there for?! You, get a medic, quick!” He ordered a soldier, who quickly ran to do as told.

“It...it didn’t work…?” Leo could only fixate on the absence of a Heroic Spirit.

His last chance.

Using the golden coin as a catalyst to bring forth a great Hero.

“Wagner, your hair.... that thing, it tried to eat you!” Baldur said, referring to the stripes of white now upon Leo’s head, mixed with his black hair “You...What did you try to do?”

“I…” Before he could reply, the familiar sound of a metal coin hitting the floor caught the attention of everyone present.

Looking down, a soldier saw a golden coin, old in its design, yet looking brand new. 

Instinctively, the soldier leaned down, grabbing it between his fingers, standing back up and looking at it. He admired it, not even thinking of the other people within the room.

And a feeling of want made its way to his mind.

“I want more.” 

The universal and inevitable sin-

Greed.

The golden coin seemed to vanish, and all that remained was the soldier standing, now motionless and expressionless.

“Soldier, what are you doing?!” Baldur yelled out “Why are you standing there? Speak!”

The soldier’s eyes met with Baldur’s, but they were not directed at him, rather, they were towards Leo.

“I ask of you,” The soldier spoke, his eyes glowing a jade color, and his voice a deeper volume. “Are you my Master?”

“Master? Leo, what is he…?”

“Ha…” Leo could only let out a single chuckle.- 

“Hahaha...Hahaha!” Which turned into mad laughter. 

“Yes, it succeeded! I succeeded! I summoned him! The eighth servant! The Forbidden One! Yes, I’ve done. I am truly...truly a genius among geniuses!”

“What are you talking about?” Abelard said, entering the room. “What have you done, Wagner?”

“I…!” Forcing his way up, Leo rose back up, but with Baldur’s assistance, his arm around his soldier. “I have proven myself worthy of being called Master! Behold, my Servant, Avenger!”

“Avenger?” Abelard directed her attention at the soldier standing before her, his aura was different. 

Unlike the ones cowering behind her, and unlike the lesser Magus of the Reich, this one had an inhumane, terrifying presence about him

A hazardous, choking smog of evil that couldn’t be from this age, or from this world, only from legend.

“Who are you? Identify yourself, Heroic Spirit!” Abelard called out to the one known as Avenger.

“I am Avenger.” He replied. “My True Name, however, is for my Master alone.”

“That’s right, that’s right, Krieger!” Leo revealed the back of his hand, an unnatural and chaotic tattoo, a swirling, twisting spiral of impossible shape, with a diamond at the center.

The Command Seal, the proof of Masters within the Holy Grail War.

“I am no longer some lackey for you, Special Commanding Leader!” His tone was obviously mocking towards her title, feeling a frenzy of arrogance wash over him. “I am the chosen Seventh, no! The Eighth Master, who will live and succeed the Fuhrer’s dreams and be given the Holy Grail! I will...I will…!”

“Is that it?” Abelard said, her cold tone and disposition cutting through Leo’s high in an instant. “A soldier has died, you lost your leg, and all we got from it was an Avenger. An extra battery to feed Mana. Are you capable of maintaining that thing, Wagner?”

“Are you… A soldier’s life is…!”

“Two soldiers, actually, considering your Avenger seemed to have taken ownership of that one’s body.” She continued uninterrupted. “Well, I suppose more strength to our war effort can’t be a terrible decision. Not to mention, the others failed and died trying to retrieve the command seals from the rogue Masters. I suppose I’ll send HQ a letter requesting more numbers to make up for our losses and then some.”

“Krieger… Do you look down upon my achievement?” Leo said, gritting his teeth

“You achieved nothing. Prove that Avenger’s worth first.”

Suddenly, the possessed soldier leapt towards Krieger, lunging like a beast with his arm stretching forth, hands like a claw.

But it clashed with the fist of a black gauntlet, halting him in his assault, the echo of steel hitting an equally powerful body rang through the room.

The one stopping Avenger was Krieger’s own Servant, Saber.

The Black Knight of perpetual abyss effortlessly stopped his assault, revealing himself from his spirit form in that instant.

“Yield,” Saber spoke, the first anyone besides Krieger heard his voice.

It was like an echo through a dark cave, but like the whispers of wind travelling through said cavern. A suggestion, an order.

A warning.

Avenger continued to push his hand against Saber’s fist, but Saber remained still and unmoving.

“Saber, do not toy with that Servant,” Abelard said. “Wagner, order him off.”

“Avenger, stand back! She is an ally!” Leo called out, as Avenger did as he was told, backing away from Saber.

“Control your Servant, Wagner. Lest I reign him in for you myself.” Abelard said, beginning to leave the ritual room, with Leo frustrated, but still in glee at his success.

“That fool Wagner… Where did he even get a catalyst? Hmph.” Abelard said, fiddling with her rifle as she walked within the halls, maintaining a stoic expression as always and doing well to restrain her anger. “Keeping the Servant’s True Name hidden from us is still necessary, however, as much as I would have liked to know who he summoned. All I hope is it’s not a waste.”

“Master.” Saber spoke, catching Abelard’s curiousity.

“What’s the matter, Saber?” Abelard replied, not used to Saber initiating conversation himself.

“The Avenger, he will be valuable,” he replied. “His strength, he has matched mine.”

“What?” Abelard stopped in her tracks, turning to face Saber, legitimately surprised. “But your Strength parameter is at A+. How could he…?” She stopped herself from thinking too much about it. “No, that’s pointless to think about it. It only means this wasn’t a waste of time and resources. I suppose I should compliment Wagner if this does indeed work out.”

She dismissed any notion of a Servant surpassing Saber, said to be the strongest class among the seven standard classes

But Leo summoned the Eighth, thought to be mythical and forgotten, Avenger class, one undesignated with little record of existing, and thus was rarely acknowledged in fear of tampering with the foundation of the Holy Grail and its system.

The summoning of Avenger would ripple through the Holy Grail.

Not even a day would pass, and already multiple boundaries and laws have been bypassed by way of loopholes and thus not truly broken.

But the Presence of Avenger, the Heroic Spirit of Vengeance and Hatred, would surely call forth an adjudicator.

Within the nursing office, the doctor dealt with Leo Wagner’s now stumped left leg, but with the use prosthetics and Magecraft, he managed to create an imperfect replacement, one that almost felt like the real thing.

The miracle of Magecraft, but nothing to what a red-headed woman would achieve in the far future.

“So much for a genius Magus.” Baldur shook his head at his friend’s actions “The ritual, using a human sacrifice, and not to mention, forcing an eighth servant, into the seven servant system! Who knows what the consequences of that will entail?”

“Haha, you think I care? If only you could see his parameters!” Leo could only cackle. He wasn’t even staring at Baldur, or anyone, but at his Servants skills and parameters, like an excited child with a new toy.

Avenger’s Parameters, the Eighth Servant, the Heroic Spirit brought forth by force.

Strength: A+  
Endurance: A+  
Agility: A  
Magical Power: B  
Luck: B

A powerhouse of a Servant, capable of potentially matching or surpassing the Saber-class, but the Avenger-class were never known for being those of power, merely oddities with no repute.

But that was not an indicator of strength or weakness, simply of undiscovered power.

“Maybe… if I really try, I can outdo that woman.” Leo muttered to himself.

“You’re really getting in over your head,” Baldur said as he stared at Avenger. He was still possessing the body of that soldier, and noticed the changes the body underwent, his eyes became a jade color, and he began to lose color on his hair, becoming greyer than it initially was. “Well, you got your Servant, so we got more numbers on our side.”

“Baldur, you are a dear friend of mine. Surely, you understand the humiliation we underwent, with a woman, one of no notable magus bloodline to boot, had the audacity to outrank us!” Leo said, no longer trying to hide his utter contempt for Abelard Krieger. 

It damaged his pride more than anything, to see a no-name woman with no meaningful repute to her family or something to propel her to this position, and yet she was a higher rank than him, one of the Reich’s Masters, one of the Seven Chosen Magus, to carry out the Fuhrer’s greatest plan.

He despised her. With every cell and atom of his body, he despised her.

The Wagner Magus Family, at times believed to be related to a particular writer who popularized the legend of Siegfried, was known as smiths of Mystic Code Blades, used by many Knight Magus since the end of the Age of Mystery, during the time of Kings and Lords.

Leo himself was the only modern and living member of the Wagner bloodline with the Origin of “Sharpness”, allowing the creation of truly wonderful blades capable of harming demons, and other magical beings, as well as directly damaging the Magic Circuits of Mages.

He has forged and created over a hundred blades, and supplied the Reich with training to allow the mass production of bayonets and combat knives, which became part of the typical soldier’s arsenal within the Magus Central of the Reich

And yet, despite all his accomplishments, his contributions, this woman was chosen over him as the leader of the Masters, and with rumors of her being the successor of the Fuhrer should he fall.

“You need to lay off that grudge of yours, man!” Baldur snapped Leo out of his grudge-filled trance with a pat on the shoulder. “Though maybe that makes you fit for Avenger, the Heroic Spirit of Resentment.”

“You’d never understand, Dietrich. You came from a family of fame and riches, you never sought more! But my family fell off the radar, and I am its last hope! The Clock Tower abandoned us, the Church too! The Reich gave us another chance.”

“Why would they do that? The Mystic Codes your family creates are supposed to be among the best, weren’t they?”

“Were,” Leo corrected Baldur. “I am the finest one of the recent generation, in over a hundred years, and that is why only I can restore it to its former glory, but that woman is in my way!”

“Alright, alright,” Baldur dismissed Leo’s increasingly more villainous monologues, brushing his blonde hair back. “You focus on getting better. Welker and Krieger are sending out Rider and Saber to scout out and try to get ahead of our enemies. If you can as well, do that too.”

“What about you?”

“Assassin can’t use Hourglass until the Lancer’s Master kills someone or is killed,” Baldur said, “He predicted their death, but it didn’t work, as you know, and only Lancer killed the soldiers, the Master’s hand are clean.”

“Pah, what a useless Noble Phantasm! Can he not simply cause death? Isn’t that what he is?” Leo scoffed at the Grim Reaper’s inadequacy at reaping.

“No no no, you don’t understand. Assassin doesn’t like killing! He’ll help us find them, but he won’t do it himself.”

“A useless Assassin as a whole! Fantastic choice, I see.” 

“Hey, he has more useful tricks up his sleeve. Just because he’s not going out there, doesn’t mean he’s doing nothing.” Baldur said “Assassin is no slouch, Leo.”

Upon the coming of the sun, a new day begun, and the mission continued, for all the Masters.

Emayla’s mission was to try and find some info on the Nazis, come into contact with potential Masters who would ally with her, and come up with an actual plan that could feasibly work out for her.

“Why did they send me here…!” a frustrated Emayla said to herself, walking through the streets of Amsterdam.

“It is important, regardless, that we focus on the mission,” Berserker said, disguised as a regular citizen. He refused to go into Spirit Form; due to his low Magical Power Parameter, he struggled with manipulating that form, and would take too long to become physical again

Thusly, simply shifting from his armor to a civilian garb was best. Though his face gave the impression of a well-mannered young man, his expression was that of unnatural stoicness, with his ash grey hair and red eyes standing out uncomfortably too much, though hopefully not enough to gain unwanted attention.

“Winning the Holy Grail,” he said, while muttering something about goblins under his breath, “that is most important.”

“You’re right, Berserker, but…” Emayla looked around her. The people of Amsterdam lived their lives, unaware of what was transpiring behind the scenes, under the layer of normalcy, where the world of Magus hid.

Though enacting the Holy Grail War on the unsuspecting city was no different, and mayhaps no worse, than the actual war consuming the world at the moment.

“Well, for today, we should keep things low, and try to find any useful information. No one is aware of our faces, so hopefully…” Emayla felt nervous at every corner. She did not sleep well last night, being haunted by the events of that day, and still remembering Ortez.

“Master, we should obtain supplies,” Berserker said. “The hotel meals are nutritious, but lack taste.”

“Eh?”

“We’ve had a good meal for staving off hunger and energy. A meal for pleasure would be beneficial to one’s mental state,” Berserker said, pointing at a small bakery. “A cupcake, perhaps.”

Though stern and professional, Berserker maintained an awareness that his Master was still human.

She couldn’t say no, so Emayla and Berserker went to the bakery, procuring a single chocolate cupcake for Emayla and leaving after thanking the owner and paying for it. 

Emayla took a single bite, feeling the sweetness and chocolatey goodness flavor run through her system. “Ah, maybe you were right, Berserker…” She said, taking another bite.

“Small acts are important.” Berserker replied. “You are no good if your mental state fractures.” It sounded like he was quite familiar with that phenomenon.

“Did you… lose someone like that, Berserker?”

“Hm.” He was silent, before answering “No.” It was an obvious lie.

However, it was interrupted by Emayla accidentally bumping her shoulder rinto a woman by accident, causing her to drop her cupcake, but also the woman to drop her books.

“Ah, I’m sorry, ma’am!” Emayla said, immediately going to help the woman pick up all her papers and books from the ground. “I was too distracted!”

“Oh, it’s alright, dear, you didn’t mean to.” The woman was forgiving, with a soft voice.

Berserker wordlessly kneeled down and helped them pick up the books as well.

The woman stood back up, a well-dressed worker woman out there doing errands. “Ah, thank you!” She was quite tall and had her long hair tied up into a neat bun, with glasses to complete the professional look. “I was running late, so I wasn’t looking ahead, haha.”

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright, ma’am! Please, don’t be late any further!” Emayla said, awkwardly waving her arms. “Do your best, miss!”

She nodded, quickly running off back to work, presumably.

“Ah, I panicked…” Emayla breathed out in relief.

“You handled it well,” Berserker said. “You’re still shaken from yesterday. I suggest to take it easy today.”

“You’re starting to baby me, I feel.” Emayla said, beginning to feel infantile.

“Trying to make our move too fast will be detrimental. Preparation is key. I am still unfamiliar with this world, so I cannot make or plan a counterattack quite yet.” Berserker explained.

In his life, Berserker fought the creatures known as Goblins within their caverns, and at times, in other areas they turned into their nests, so this modern age, with larger buildings everywhere, and unfamiliar architecture and geography was new to him.

It would be reckless to use his tactics when he still hasn’t witnessed the world with his own eyes yet, regardless of what knowledge he was gifted to understand the world he is in now.

The day was not in vain either. In every minute of the day, he focused and analyzed the city and its buildings. In many ways, it was no different than the larger cities he spent time in, but nowhere near the small villages he frequented.

He spotted recon areas, to gain a higher ground and better get a better eagle’s eye view of everything, he noted the materials of the buildings didn’t seem to be much different than the ones he witnessed in his life, simply using different construction methods and architectural style.

Yes, even at this moment, Berserker was already hatching potential ideas and strategies to deal with enemies in this unfamiliar world.

Imagination is a weapon, and those who lack it die first.

“First,” Emayla spoke. “Berserker, before we fight the Nazis or find their headquarters, wouldn’t it be better to have them come to us?”

“...Yes, that is an idea.” Berserker replied. “It would take less effort, but it would leave us open for an assault.” 

“Not if we have the help of our allies at the hotel. They already took greater precaution to avoid another…” She stopped herself, wincing and looking down, remembering Ortez and the others when she first arrived. “A stronger Bounded Field, and keeping our guard again. If we’re always ready, we won’t be open for an assault.”

“I see.” Berserker replied. 

“Do you think that could work…?” She immediately asked, as if needing validation.

“Yes, it is a solid plan. The other Masters could dwindle their own numbers for us, and we could avoid combat all together. We could…” However, Berserker paused, before quickly grabbing Emayla and leaping out of the way, a powerful impact on where they just stood/

The earth was dented, the brick ground destroyed and caved in almost.

It was a single bullet, that was what Berserker’s True Eye of the Mind showed him.

It was ranked C+, just high enough to allow him to sense an oncoming attack, and identify what it was, honed from his continuous hunting of the Goblins, expecting ambushes at every corner, and becoming able to predict their movement.

And that one attack was a near hit, showing its imperfections still.

With a mental command, Berserker’s armor manifested, in full view for the civilians in the scene, in broad daylight.

“Berserker, wait!” Emayla called out, to his confusion.

But the reason was made clear soon enough, as the civilians who bore witness to this blatant act of Magecraft were swiftly executed by more gunshots, fired rapidly and with little delay between them. 

It was efficient and quick, and soon, the streets were filled with the dead bodies of eyewitnesses, but still, no sight of the attacker.

“Servant,” Berserker said, his arm wrapping more tight around Emayla, holding his short sword in his left hand, using his strapped on shield as well, preparing for another assault “Goblins.” But his madness began to prioritize in his mind, forcing the idea that the culprit was the goblins.

“Berserker, the people…” Emayla, however, was shivering intensely, the dead-eyed corpses of the civilians feeling as if they were glaring all at her, as if somehow, they were blaming her.

Once again, people died, and she was the root cause of it.

But her pleading was left unanswered as Berserker quickly began rushing out of the way, carrying Emayla in his arms, as more projectiles were fired towards them, using his Eye of the Mind to predict their trajectory and dodge before it landed.

He leaped into a nearby building through the window, quickly pushing through into the next room, and going up the stairs, all while the people within yelled in fear at the man breaking in.

Eventually, Berserker reached the rooftops, with Emayla still in his arms.

“Where>” Berserker said, frantically looking to try and find the culprit

“Berserker…” Emayla spoke, getting down from Berserker’s arms. “You have…” She struggled to speak, but knew the urgency of the situation, and forced the words out “You have to kill him.” 

That order was clearly not given at the best of mental states, but Berserker understood her wish clearly, and the reason behind it

“I understand.” His movement returned to the robotic and machine-like indifference of before, staring out at the general area. Calculating the trajectory of the projectiles, he could pinpoint the location of the attacker.

But the trajectory changed frequently, leaving Berserker with four to five potential spots for the attacker.

“I see.” Berserker said, breathing out, raising his shield up, with Emayla behind him, his sword raised, prepared for the assault.

“Come to me, goblins.”

Without missing a beat, a shadowy presence made itself clear, a pistol materializing alongside the shadow, behind Berserker, with a full view of the defenseless Emayla

The gun barrel aimed, and the trigger pulled, a bullet firing, and upon impact, a cloud of dust formed, with the two none the wiser.

So the attacker thought, before the dust settled and he saw Emayla standing unharmed, to his surprise.

“I see you.” Berserker quickly turned, now facing the attacker, fully in his sights. He would not lose him again.

The attacker fired another multitude of shots from his silver gun, blasting at them a storm of bullets, creating a larger and darker cloud of smoke.

The cartridge slid from the gun, and he went to reload, only for Berserker to leap from the smoke, rushing the attacker, and when the distance between them closed, he noticed something peculiar

This attacker, he was quite tall, and behind his odd round rimmed glasses, smiled a toothy grin.

“Hello.” The attacker greeted Berserker, who stabbed his body right with his short sword “Hahaha! Yes, yes! That’s a good arm there, Berserker.” The shadows surrounding the attacker cleared up, revealing a large figure, with a crimson red coat and a wide-brimmed crimson hat.

“I’m pleased to see that even among Heroic Spirits, there are still human warriors.”.

Looking at his sword, Berserker noticed the wound he was stabbing into was closing around it, and after pulling it out, it healed almost instantly. He jumped back, shield raised.

“Hahaha!” The attacker simply laughed out loud at Berserker’s actions. “That was a good stab. Any normal person would have been in life threatening condition, but alas, I am no mere man.”

“Who are you?” Berserker questioned the man, glancing momentarily behind him to check on Emayla, seeing her unscathed but clearly unwell, his gaze returning to the attacker.

“You already know who I am, Berserker.” The attacker mockingly replied. “Just as I sensed your Mad Enhancement, you sensed my marksmanship.”

“I see.” Berserker dryly replied. “Archer.”

“That’s right!” Archer gleefully answered. “I am the Archer-class Heroic Spirit! Pleasure to make your acquaintance! Haha!”

“Why are you attacking in broad daylight?!” Emayla suddenly shouted. “Those people did nothing! So why did you…?!”

“Do not ask me that, child.” Archer replied, grinning, but it seemed almost forced. “That was my Master’s command. As a Servant, I am to follow his orders.”

“So your Master is around here.” Emayla gritted her teeth “Where are you, coward?! Huh?! You know the laws of the Grail War, right? The fights shouldn’t be at daytime! You… You should…”

“I’m sorry, madam.” Archer said. “My Master’s orders don’t owe an explanation.” He aimed his gun, and upon closer inspection, it was an incredibly modern looking armament, silver and something that did not exist in this world yet.

“I see.” Berserker exhaled, almost in relief, a trail of red emanating from his helm. “I am faced with an exceptionally intelligent Champion Goblin.”

Archer was quiet for a moment.

“Goblin?” He was confused to say the least.

“Come, filthy goblin. I will do as the slayer does, and slay,” Berserker boasted, much to Archer’s amusement.

“Very well. I don’t understand what this goblin business is about, but come, face me, mud knight!” Just as he exclaimed that, an arrow struck Archer betwixt his eyes, breaking the rim of his glasses, causing them to fall on the floor.

For a moment, Archer saw the image of a young woman with green hair wielding a bow, but the flash was so brief and weak that he didn’t notice it.

In hindsight, the thwack of a bow string should have been the first warning.

“Allies?” Archer said, taking the arrow out of his forehead, the wound healing, but quickly noticing that Berserker and Emayla had already left while his gaze was averted. “Ah. I have been ditched. Oh what will I…?” Without a moment's hesitation, Archer aimed his gun at the floor beneath his feet.

He could still hear the desperate galloping of four feet trying to run away.

Which only meant one thing.

Berserker knew he couldn’t win.

With a pull of the trigger, Archer muttered two words.

“Hellsing ARMS.” 

And a bullet fired, blasting through the floor, and travelling down the floors, rapidly breaking through the concrete, the speed at which it moved was only matched by the strength it held, leaving large holes in its wake through each level.

But when it reached Berserker and Emayla, it was blocked by an invisible barrier.

“Again? So it wasn’t a coincidence…” Archer felt an excitement rush through his veins. “A barrier, and an invisible bowman. Who are you, Berserker?”

“Masterm” Berserker said to Emayla, carrying her in his arms once more “Forgive me, but I will be late for a moment.” He said, and once he reached the first floor, quickly kicked the door open, putting Emayla outside, and closing the door without saying anything further.

As he did, Archer already reached the bottom floor, right behind him.

“My my, throwing out the woman?” Archer tauntingly said. “Or do you think I won’t give chase?”

“No.” Berserker replied matter of factly. “You will not, for I am here.”

“Ha, well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” Archer mused. “I’m more interested in facing you, rather than chasing some child.” He grinned. “Now, warrior of madness, show me humanity’s might!” 

Without a further exchange of words, Berserker rushed at Archer, who simply aimed his gun towards the warrior.

Only to be met with a sudden blast of stone spears from behind, stabbing into his back. 

“Enemies?” The sudden distraction gave Berserker the chance to throw a smoke bomb, creating further impairment to his vision.

Using that, Berserker utilized a new armament added to his Arsenal of the Slayer Personal Skill, pulling out grenades he had stolen from dead soldiers, throwing them around the sensitive foundations of the buildings and pillars

“What are you doing there, Berserker?” Archer said, firing a bullet towards Berserker, the bullet striking him on the shoulder, the force of it pushing him out through the glass window .

“Haha, still human. Good, good,” Archer said, staring at Berserker from inside the building, aiming his gun at him. He noticed that Berserker's shoulder piece was dented and destroyed by his bullet, damaging his skin but not enough to cause serious injury, yet the impact of it still seemed to have caused internal damage.

“You’ve got an interesting Noble Phantasm. Who are these invisible assailants?”

Berserker glared at Archer behind his helmet’s visor, before speaking.

“A goblin wouldn’t understand.”

“...Again with the goblin. Are you bli-...?” Archer was interrupted by the multiple grenades going off simultaneously, causing the building to collapse atop him into a gigantic dust cloud, sending tremors through the neighborhood, creating a hill of nothing but rubble.

It was only through his Personal Skill that he was able to maintain those grenades. 

Arsenal of the Slayer, rank B, allowing Berserker to store any useful items within his arsenal, pulling it out of his pockets and storage at any moment, without the need to physically pull them out himself. He was able to add new items as well, but all of them are limited in quantity and he cannot create new ones, thus he must still restock those.

“Master?” Berserker mentally called out to Emayla.

“I’m fine, Berserker. I hid someplace.” She replied within that same telepathic link “Was that necessary? Bringing the whole building down…?” Emayla asked, sounding melancholy.

Berserker began to walk away, rubbing his injured right shoulder as he did. “Not necessary, but it was an option. This won’t be enough, but it incapacita-...”

A gunshot interrupted him, with a bullet travelling through his stomach, the bullet still travelling and hitting the ground in front of him.

“...?!” He turned around, seeing Archer standing up, none worse for wear, now wielding a secondary, black gun, one of greater power than his silver.

“That was a neat trick, but dirty,” Archer said, firing another bullet, only to hit another invisible barrier, but this time, he got sight of a petite young woman, with blonde hair and blue eyes, who vanished as fast as she appeared. “But, I can’t hate it, that trickery, that pragmatism and need for survival at any cost, that’s what makes you so… human!”

He fired another shot, missing Berserker by a hair's breadth, a warning shot.

“Human…” Berserker muttered, clutching his stomach as it continued to bleed .“What would a goblin know about humanity?”

“That joke is really getting old.” Archer simply said, firing another shoot, blasting through Berserker’s left leg, causing him to cough up blood. “It was short, but our meeting was nice.”

Before he could fire another shot, a skeletal lizard lunged from his blind spot, slashing off Archer’s arm clean off, the trigger pulling and firing the bullet into the air, harmlessly travelling into the sky.

“Oh, well come now.” Archer seemed only mildly bemused, grabbing the skeletal creature’s head with his other hand, crushing it into dust “That was just sneaky.” He turned back, only to see Berserker gone. “Ah.” Archer didn’t seem too bothered by this

In fact, his arm was already beginning to regenerate and reattach itself, gun in hand “Well, at least it means we can meet again, Berserker. I just hope Master doesn’t work me to the bone again, hahaha.”

Utilizing a secondary skeleton lizard soldier, Berserker had it carry him away. Initially, he planned to use the first as a distraction, with the second to decapitate Archer, but somehow, he felt that wouldn’t have worked, and his survival took priority, for the sake of his Master

“Frustrating.” Berserker muttered, as the skeleton soldier continued to carry him “Master?” He called to Emayla through their link.

“Berserker, where are you?! What was that thing? Wh-...?”

“Go to the Hotel and await me. I will be there soon,” Berserker replied, interrupting the panicking Emayla

“Berserker, are you hurt? Where are you?” She persisted.

“Master.” He spoke. “Please enter a safe haven. I will be there soon enough. I already have someone keeping an eye on you for me.” He said, referring to a third soldier, created to scout ahead and follow Emayla, giving Berserker respite that she would not be walking alone .“She is out of spells for today, so I cannot fight much longer. I was too reckless. I am incapable of frontal assault against that goblin.”

Emayla did not say much, but Berserker could sense she was uneasy and required him to return soon to ease her worries.

“I will live, Master.” He replied, momentarily giving her a sense of relief “There are still goblins I must slay.” Wish was dashed as fast by his madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit longer to get done than I thought. Rough few weeks. 
> 
> Thought I should note, also, not all the Servants here are crossover characters, there's some original ones thrown in, like Assassin.
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoyed and thank you for your comments.


End file.
